


I'll Love You for a Thousand More

by ShepherdSoreyDidNothingWrong (Sagnessagiel)



Series: Worth the Wait [1]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Humour, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagnessagiel/pseuds/ShepherdSoreyDidNothingWrong
Summary: Mikleo had a lot of firsts in his life. Few of them were with Sorey.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a plot bunny I had to start off the new year. I'm going to bed now. Enjoy!

When Sorey sits down and closes his eyes in what will become his tomb for a thousand years, he is alone.

It is dark in the room, the light from his seraphim companions long since escaped to the world above him. He looks up, and a soft smile forms on his lips.

"Look after them, guys. I'll be back before you know it."

He sits down, makes himself properly comfortable (he double checks), and lets himself drift off peacefully. He very carefully does not think about Mikleo.

Sleep, Maotelus whispers. Let me repair what has been broken.

Sorey sleeps.

* * *

A hundred years. Mikleo waits a hundred years for Sorey.

It takes everything he has in him to do it. The twenty year mark passes, then the fifty, and then eighty. At a hundred, he knows for sure that Sorey would not have survived until now.

"It's the first hundred years that are the hardest," Zaveid tells him, and then sips his drink. "Especially if you're close with humans. That eats at you for a while."

Mikleo's drink sits untouched on the table. He has not eaten or drunk anything in over three weeks.

"I'm guessing Lailah sent you," he says tiredly. Zaveid shrugs.

"She wanted me to help cheer you up."

"If you leave me alone, I'll tell her you did great," Mikleo says.

Zaveid frowns.

"No can do, kid. You've been moping for months. Something needs to be done, and I'll level with you. If talking about it will help, I'm down."

He pushes Mikleo's drink a little closer, and Mikleo pushes it away. They glare at each other over the glass.

"Kid," Zaveid says, properly earnest. "I'm your friend. If you need to talk, I'm here."

It is a surprising amount of honesty, and no accompanying jokes with it. Mikleo looks down at the table. His hands rest on it, pale against the dark wood.

He does not look a day older.

"She's really worried, isn't she?" he asks without looking up.

Zaveid is quiet for a long moment.

"We all are." He says. Mikleo looks at his drink. He wonders if the gesture of drinking it would help his image any. Lailah has been trying to get him to eat something since he stopped, her concern almost overwhelming.

"Look, I-" Zaveid sighs. "I joke a lot about it, but I know how much he meant to you. The possibility that he might not wake up-"

"He will," Mikleo interrupts, his tone firm but empty. He has said it so many times, it has become a mantra of sorts.

"Okay, so he will," Zaveid concedes. "You can't let your life slip away waiting for him."

"I'm not letting anything slip away," Mikleo insists, annoyed. "I've got two books done and counting. I went out exploring with Edna the other week. I'm doing just fine-"

"You haven't written anything in seventeen years. You went out with Edna because she's worried about you too and dragged you kicking and screaming to a cave that both of you hated exploring because you're in full mope-mode and didn't enjoy it. She doesn't do that for just anyone, you know."

"There was neither kicking nor screaming," Mikleo insists.

"But you admit to the dragging?" Zaveid raises an eyebrow.

Mikleo draws in a slow breath through his nose. He looks around the inn. It is almost desolate so late at night.

He wonders if it would make too much of a scene to walk out on Zaveid and escape this conversation.

"Why does it matter anyway? It's been seventeen years, so what?"

"Seventeen years since you wrote, twenty since you went into anything bigger than a cave to explore, and fifty-six since you last traveled anywhere interesting. You're slipping. You're letting yourself slip."

"I'm not-" Mikleo gestures angrily. "You know what? I don't care. I'm going to live for millennia, Zaveid. What's a few years here or there?"

It is meant to sound detached - nonchalant - but he is upset now. He wants to go home and lie down in his bed. He wants to get out of this inn.

The way Zaveid looks at him is disconcerting in how genuine it is.

"A healthy outlook for most seraphim," he says. "but as I said, the first century is the hardest. This is the part where you need to hold on for dear life. Trust me."

He stands up and slides his chair back in place.

"I'll leave you alone now, but it's up to you to placate Lailah. See you, kid."

Mikleo tries to come up with a reply, but he does not have the time before Zaveid disappears out the door. He blinks, weighs what has been said.

He looks down at the drink on the table. The ice is half melted and diluting the contents of the glass.

He slides his fingers up the length of the glass to the rim. As he traces it with a lazy pointer finger, the liquid inside begins to freeze again. His hand closes around the glass, feeling its chill.

Slowly, he lifts it to his lips and takes a tentative sip.

* * *

Mikleo looks down into the depths of the cave. From the surface, it looks like a hole in the ground. A significantly deep one. Mikleo, however, knows better.

There is going to be water some distance down. The underground maze has been filled with it for centuries, as is common knowledge among the locals. It is the reason he brought almost exclusively water seraphim along with him on this expedition. There will be a lot of diving, and water seraphim are significantly easier to keep alive in an unknown submerged environment than anything else.

Mikleo pulls a piece of string out of his pocket and puts it in a loose grip in his teeth. With practiced movements he sweeps his hair up and ties it neatly together. It was Lailah who finally convinced him to grow it out but now he wonders whether it was such a good idea. Even at shoulder length, it could still get in his face and hinder his movement underwater.

"We ready?" someone asks behind him.

Mikleo turns around to face him. A water seraph perhaps a few decades his senior smiles and tilts his head. Mikleo knows him vaguely, having been part of the recruitment process to get him on the expedition.

"Just about," he says. "I take it you're part of the first dive?"

The seraph nods happily. His smile is wide.

"I'm Sky," he says, and reaches out a hand for Mikleo to shake. Mikleo does so warmly.

"Mikleo," he replies. Sky nods with visible satisfaction.

"I figured. You're the leader of this thing, no?"

Mikleo would not arrive at that term himself, but it is technically true so he nods.

"Great," Sky says warmly. "Say, I've never been on an expedition like this before." He glances meaningfully at the pit by their feet. "Any pointers?"

Mikleo tilts his head. The eager anticipation he can see on Sky's face amuses him. It is not often he finds himself in the company of those who share his enthusiasm to the same degree.

"Don't be too disappointed if we don't find anything." A warning for a fall he has taken many times. "Seraphic artes or no, the risk of erosion here is extremely high. It's likely everything has been broken down long ago."

"Oh, I can't imagine being disappointed by this trip." Sky grins brightly. "Not for anything."

Mikleo finds himself smiling too. He pats Sky's shoulder in a friendly gesture.

"Glad to hear it. Now, we should check that everything's ready. We have a whole week of diving before us."

* * *

Their heads breach the surface of the water and they breathe of the small air pocket in the cave. The light from their artes casts the cave ceiling in a gentle blue glow.

Sky shakes his head to sweep his bangs out of his face. He looks around the space with big eyes.

"Wow," he says breathlessly. Mikleo huffs a laugh, elated.

"Yeah," he says.

Ancient designs that glow in the blue light cover the area around them. They are set in dazzling patterns that twist and cross over each other. It is some sort of complicated scene depicted in an unknown art style, but they will have to study it more closely in order to deduce its origin.

It is breathtaking to look at. Mikleo cannot wait to get some equipment down to sketch it. The thrill of a new discovery has been so distant it feels entirely new now. It makes him unable to stop smiling. He feels as though he is seventeen again.

"We did it," Sky exclaims."We finally did it."

His voice echoes in the space. He laughs happily.

Mikleo treads water to face him and finds that he has already swum closer. They clasp hands under the surface, grinning.

"Thank you for bringing me with you," Sky says, endlessly grateful. His eyes glint with blue light. For a moment, Mikleo can only gaze at him.

"I couldn't have done it without you," Mikleo replies. Sky's expression becomes soft. He pulls Mikleo closer by the hand. Mikleo lets him.

He leans in slowly, giving ample warning and time for Mikleo to move away. Mikleo does not. Instead he meets him halfway, pressing their lips together and holding him close.

With their effort of treading water abandoned, they soon sink beneath the surface. Their arte lights flicker into darkness. They pay no attention to that.

* * *

He is working on his eleventh book when he hits the two hundred mark. As he is out in the desert, no one is there to celebrate it with him. That is, no one but Edna.

"I hear today is supposed to be the day," she says when he wakes up. She is sitting beneath her propped up umbrella and sipping a cup of water. "Happy birthday or something."

She looks perfectly at ease, unaffected by the heat which threatens to boil Mikleo alive. He sits up and scoots a little more into the shade which his windbreak provides.

"Thanks, I think." He reaches for the cup and she holds it out for him to fill up again. He then cups his hands and conjures some cold water for himself. He does not need a cup.

"You doing anything special for it?" Edna asks. She regards him with impassive eyes. Mikleo raises both eyebrows.

"Seraphim don't celebrate birthdays," he says, confused as to the need to explain this. Edna shrugs. She reaches down and digs her fingers into the hard earth. It parts as easily as water under her touch.

"You're not like most seraphim. Didn't you celebrate back in Elysia?"

"That was when Sorey was there. Medea wanted to make sure he didn't miss out on anything just because he was in a seraph village."

It hurts far less now to talk about Sorey. Mikeo takes some pride in having moved on as well as he did. He is still waiting, of course, but waiting has turned from being an unbearable passing of time into a gathering of experiences which he hopes to share with Sorey when he wakes up. He has discovered just how well he can fare in the meanwhile. Sorey would be proud.

"Pity," Edna says, confusing him more. "I would have paid to see Zaveid getting you as drunk as you got at the university ball five years ago."

Heat blooms in his cheeks that has nothing to do with the desert. His annual tour of guest lectures skips over Lastonbell University for a reason. He figures he can give it a couple more years, just until those that know have had time to forget or move on to their respective careers.

"You're in no luck for that," he says, and splashes some of his water in his face. He dabs at his neck with it too, with little regard for how it gets on his clothes. It will dry soon anyway.

"As I said. Bummer."

She has put the cup down to kneel and sweep her hands across the ground. Loose sand gathers in a pile before her, and she scoops up a handful without loosing a grain.

"Where are we headed?" she asks, just to make conversation.

Mikleo picks up his satchel and rifles through it for the half finished manuscript. It is a rumpled bundle tied up with brown string.

"Loghrin is just a day away. I plan to find a desk, any desk, and get this into some sort of coherency before we head back to Ladylake."

"Why not just sort it out on the way to Ladylake?" Edna asks. Mikleo shakes his head.

"I don't feel like walking and working at the same time. We don't have a shepherd to carry us at the moment."

Edna looks at him oddly. He raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You mixed both lime sorbet and fudge pudding on the walk from the last ruins to here," Edna deadpans. "What's the real reason you want to go to Loghrin?"

Mikleo opens his mouth. He finds to his horror that he has no satisfactory answer to that. A few seconds pass, before Edna's eyes glint just slightly with a realisation.

"Oh, I see," she says, smirking at his dumbfounded expression. "There's someone you want to see."

"That is ridiculous," Mikleo says defensively, though he knows he has already lost.

"Is it a seraph? Human? Oh," she clasps her hand over the clumped sand in the other. "Is it that new lord of the land? That wind girl?"

Mikleo says nothing, his eyes adamantly on the manuscript. His silence is very telling.

"Think she's cute, do you?" Edna's smirk is obnoxious. Mikleo rolls his eyes.

"I just want to get this manuscript done in time. It'll be slower if I do it on the road, OK?"

"Whatever you say, Meebo." Edna squeezes the sand in her hands. She molds it like a snowball, pressing on it hard.

"Look," Mikleo says, with full knowledge that he has lost this argument. "Just don't embarrass me when we get there. Please?"

"Since you asked so nicely," Edna acquiesces. Her eyes meet Mikleo's, and for a moment her smile is genuine. Mikleo is still getting used to her doing that once in a while.

"We should get going," she says. "It'll be noon in a few hours, and the sun will make your feeble form evaporate. If we're to reach Loghrin we should hurry."

Mikleo looks up at the clear sky. He sighs.

The manuscript slides easily back into his satchel and he stands up to begin taking the windbreak apart. The heat already feels scalding on his fair skin.

Edna makes no effort to help. He is the one who insists on sleeping, so he has to deal with his own accommodations. That is the unspoken deal between them.

"You know," she says, making him pause. "If you really like her, you should get her a nice gift. The Five Lords know you're lousy at first impressions."

He is about to open his mouth and reply with something scathing when he sees her toss something at him in his peripheral vision. On pure instinct he reaches up and catches it. He looks at it. Blinks.

A heart made of clear glass rests on his palm. It glints beautifully in the sunlight. He looks at her in confusion and awe.

Edna is already walking away, expecting him to catch up. Her umbrella shields her from the heat and his gaze.

"Happy birthday," she says, and walks off in the direction of Loghrin.

* * *

Mikleo turns five hundred years old. Despite his protests, his friends throw an extravagant birthday party for him.

"Look," he says outside the door to the ballroom. He cannot believe they rented a ballroom. "This is the first time you're meeting my friends, so I want to warn you of what is to come."

His date, a dashing seraph girl named Sal, smiles in utter amusement.

"Are they that bad?" she asks, already halfway to laughter. Mikleo looks at her very seriously.

"Just stay close to me, okay? They can get really intense with the people I date. If you get caught alone with one of them they might just scare you away."

Sal giggles, a musical sound. Mikleo's expression does not change.

"I can handle a little protectiveness," she assures him with a hand on his arm. He clasps it in his own.

"Just promise to stay close, okay?" He is amused too, but he is still serious. "I really like you. I don't want them ruining it on the third date."

Her expression is warm as she looks into his eyes. "Okay. I promise."

Mikleo kisses her gratefully on the cheek, and she surprises him by kissing him back on the lips. They walk into the room arm in arm, to a thunderous celebratory cheer. She laughs happily and urges him to wave.

When they come out of the room four and a half hours later, she is laughing much the same way. He sweeps her into his arms and she throws her own gladly around his neck. Their foreheads press together. Her eyes glitter in the light.

"Thanks for coming," he says. "And thanks for putting up with them all."

Sal hums affectionately. "They really do love you, you know?"

He smiles and closes his eyes. "I know. In theory at least."

Her laughter is muffled as she presses her mouth to his neck.

* * *

Timothy wakes up halfway through the night. It is not so strange that he comes looking for Mikleo in the study.

"You know," he says as he props his hip against the door frame and crosses his arms. "It is you who insists on sleeping in the first place."

Mikleo scribbles out the last of his current sentence. He looks up at Tim in sheepish apology.

"I'll come to bed in a moment," he says. "Promise."

"What are you working on?" Tim's hands slide over his shoulders and squeeze. It is very relaxing, considering the poor posture he has held for the last hour or so. His focus on the task at hand has become a sort of tunnel vision, disregarding his body and surroundings at he works.

"Some last minute edits for the new book." Mikleo jots down some notes on a loose sheet of paper to the side. "I want to get it done before Friday."

"You're becoming a lord of the land," Timothy says. "Not dying. You'll have time to finish, still."

"You'd be surprised. It's not just sitting around and accepting gifts all day. I'll need to keep up public relations and maintain my domain as well. Not to mention the boons and hundreds of requests a day. I'll be busy enough."

Tim's hands begin to work their way down his back. He groans with relief, but he does not stop writing. He just has to finish the thought.

His desk is littered with notes and illustrations for his latest manuscript. It is a record and speculation on a group of discoveries he has made in Ladylake's ruins in the last few years. He does not notice Tim looking around at the papers, until one of Tim's hands comes into his field of vision to point at a loose page.

It is a drawing. One of the few that Mikleo has provided himself. It is a sketch of a young man with ruffled hair and kind eyes which gaze at something outside of the paper's borders. He has a feathered trinket in his ear and a cloak around his shoulders whose design is aged but just as iconic as it always was.

"Is that him?" Tim asks. "Sorey?"

Mikleo puts the period at the end of his sentence. He sets the pen down.

"Yes," he says, unsure how to react. "It is."

Tim says nothing for a long moment. He traces the outline of Sorey's shoulder with his pointer finger.

"After all this time, still?" he asks, and it is not judgemental. It is gentle, genuinely curious.

"Yes," Mikleo says simply. Tim knew of this when he entered the relationship. It is impossible to know the famous seraph Mikleo without knowing of his history with the Chaos Shepherd. It is legend, myth and history. Common knowledge.

"You really love him, huh?" Tim asks. He now sounds sad, though he does a good job of covering it up. Mikleo senses the change in mood, but sees no point in lying. It wuld only hurt them both.

"You've read my books. I dedicate them all to him."

Tim nods. He draws his hand back.

"I know," he says.

"Tim," Mikleo says earnestly. "You know I-"

"No, yeah, I know." Tim presses a kiss to the back of his head. "I never thought otherwise. Just..." He hesitates. Then he surprises Mikleo.

"Thank you for letting me have this, even if it has an expiration date, so to speak."

He squeezes Mikleo's shoulders again, a goodbye for the moment.

"Be sure to come to bed soon. I've gotten used to this sleeping thing, and if I don't get enough of it I'll be grumpy in the morning."

He leaves Mikleo with those parting words. There is no chance of setting anything right before he disappears upstairs.

Silence descends upon the room. A melancholy aura has settled in to stay.

Mikleo sighs and sits back in his chair. He is deep in thought. It soon gives way to conclusion, and he stands up to walk to the stairs that lead to their bedroom.

He plans to make clear to Tim that he will be there fo him in heart and soul for as long as Tim will have him. That has always been the truth. It will continue to be for as long as he is allowed it.

* * *

The moment the door closes behind them, Sorey presses Mikleo up against it and kisses him with a sort of tenderness that makes Mikleo break inside. It is all so new and so familiar at once. Sorey is so different, but at his core there is truly nothing that could change him. Mikleo knows so.

As they kiss, his hands roam over Sorey's chest. He finds the clasps of Sorey's cloak - his ancient and somehow still intact shepherd's cloak - and undoes them with a fervor that wholly disregards the importance of the garment. He tugs it off Sorey's shoulders, and Sorey helps by shrugging out of it. He is already working on Mikleo's many buttons and clasps, but that will take some more time.

The cloak falls to the floor with little ceremony. Mikleo begins to take a step over it, but Sorey pushes him back more gently against the door. They pull apart, and Sorey looks into Mikleo's eyes.

Sorey looks so tender, so in love, but it makes Mikleo's heart drop into his stomach. Sorey opens his mouth, and for a moment he is too overcome even to speak.

A thousand and thirteen years, seven months, and two days. Mikleo has waited a long time. He does not want to wait anymore.

"You look-"

Mikleo puts a finger over Sorey's lips.

"No," he says, his voice cracking. "Don't say anything."

Sorey looks confused and hurt and worried. Mikleo's fingers slide down to his jaw, and he caresses it gently.

"I don't want to be anything else tonight," he whispers by way of explanation. "I just want to be Mikleo. Let me."

Sorey still looks like he wants to say something. Mikleo gathers everything in himself.

"Please."

He has been so many things in the last thousand years. So many people. He just wants to go back to who he was at the beginning, when he was most happy. Even if it is only for one night.

They hesitate. Mikleo's heart begins to pound with wild fear. Sorey has questions. Things he wants to say. Perhaps it was foolish for Mikleo to think he could have-

"Okay," Sorey whispers back. "Okay."

He pulls Mikleo in for another kiss, and Mikleo responds in kind. He feels like crying.

He can have this. Just for one night, he can have it back. The way things were.


End file.
